Twenty Years
by Crazycatscarmen
Summary: Hey, I made another reunion fic. Who's surprised? Stan is homeless for not six- not eight- not ten- but twenty years. Eventually ends up in a hospital and a compassionate doctor lady attempts to find his family while he's still unconscious. Blood and injuries, non-descriptive. If there are any more warnings as I update I will place them in the chapter headings.
1. My head hurts so I made this

**Basics of this au: Fidds moved in with Ford to study anomalies for good when his wife dumped him, taking Tate with her. Ford basically forces himself to forget he has a brother for nearly twenty years when one day he gets a phone call from a determined, yet compassionate doctor.  
**

* * *

She might have felt bad had it not been so severe.

The man was forced unconscious, having struggled like his life depended on it after being found half-dead by a young woman who was leaving work after dark, having finished her shift at the local grocery store. The man seemed determined not to leave with the medical personel after the woman dialed 911. Although, she was sure the man was only delirious and wouldn't have fought so hard had he been lucid.

His wounds were dire and had the women found him any later, he might not have made it. With six broken ribs- one of them puncturing his left lung- and several fractures, on his arms, legs, and even head, she was surprised he had managed to stay awake, much less fight the way he did.

That wasn't even mentioning the blood loss and the stitches he required after being cut all along his torso.

The man was certainly in more than a horrible condition. He was a miracle, to be honest. After the beating he'd taken, she thought that he must have the heart of a racehorse, the way it kept on beating.

At the moment, however, she wasn't worried about his physical wounds.

Just the mental ones.

Who was this man? Why was he nearly beaten to death, left to die in an alleyway? She was sure he was going to make it, that was perfectly clear, the way he acted, he was clearly a fighter. But that didn't mean he'd leave and suddenly be _fine_. No one was _fine_ after something like this.

She would know.

That was why she was trying her darndest to find _something_ about him. About his identity. If she could find even his initials, it might help her with her mission.

She was going to find his next of kin.

Okay, so maybe it was a far-fetched idea, but most everyone had at least one person they knew, right? Sure, this man didn't have an identity at the moment, but that didn't mean he didn't have an emergency contact? Someone, to help him out?

That's why she was digging through his pockets. His clothes had been folded away and placed on a chair beside his bed. She looked up at him for a moment.

He looked...unhappy. Even in sleep. The thought made her sigh.

Placing the empty jacket to the side, she reached for his jeans.

This was definitely not one of her proudest moments. She dug through the two back pockets.

Nothing.

She dived half-heartedly into the last two pockets and gave a small yelp. She quickly withdrew her finger, sucking on the small cut there. A realization came over her and she reached back toward's them, pulling out a sharply folded piece of paper.

 _Please don't be trash, please don't be trash..._

She unfolded it and a smaller paper from within fell out, falling to the floor. She quickly scooped it up again before her eyes returned to the original object.

It was a photo. Presumably, it was the man, much younger, and...someone else.

They were both docked up with boxing gear. That wasn't what made her gasp.

They were positively _identical._ Both of them grinning wide with matching smiles.

 _Twins! This man has a twin!_

 _This man has a twin._ She stopped for a moment to look back up at his hardened frown and her excitement drained. Oh dear. She hesitantly flipped the photo over.

 _Stanley and Stanford- boxing tournament._

The doctor hummed. So his name was either Stanley or Stanford? Who would name both their twins Stan? It seemed a little cruel to her. She turned to the second shred of paper. It was even more worn down than the photograph, although neither had any tears in their edges. They were well loved.

The second piece of paper was smudged and old, but no less eligible. It was another name and a number:

 _Ford_

 _971-776-890_

She blinked. Well, that's convenient.

Mission accomplished, almost.

...

She made it to the phone at the front desk, basically telling the lazy receptionist to move, which he did. She swore he was the most useless thing in the entire building and considering they had a morgue, that was saying something. She sat down, ignoring when Zac- the receptionist- started sipping loudly on his drink. Although it was more like 'try to ignore'. She was trying to deliver painful news, for goodness sakes!

The phone started ringing and she tapped the desk rhythmically with her fingers, tension filling her abdomen. This wasn't going to be a happy phone call.

She just hoped someone picked up.

 _Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!_ She sighed _Ring! Ring!- click._

 _Hello? What can I do fer ya?_

She blinked. "Um, Is this a Ford? A possible Stanford speaking?"

" _No, but I can git 'em fer ya. What is it ya need?"_

She wasn't sure what to say other than- "It's about his brother."

"... _What? Brother? Stanferd doesn't have ah-"_

 _"Fiddleford? Who are you talking to?"_

 _"This lady is talkin' about you havin' a brother or someth- hey!"_

 _"Greetings, this is Stanford Pines, who are you and what do you know?"_

Well that was...abrupt. Taking a deep breath, she tried to keep her voice professional.

"Hello, Mr. Pin-"

" _It's Doctor. Doctor Pines_."

Oh. Well then. She cleared her throat. "Alright, Dr. Pines. I'm a doctor myself at a hospital in Colorado. Grandview medical center and I've some news. I found this number in his pocket, and without any ID I thought-"

" _Please, just get on with it. What was it you were saying about my brother?"_

Rude. This man had no people skills. This was hard enough! She huffed.

"Alright, do you want the long version or the-"

" _Short please."_

She deadpanned. "He's been beaten to near death and is lying in a hospital bed."

Silence. All she could hear was the light static of someone breathing into the mic.

Okay, this guy was _ticking her off._ "Sir?"

"I'll be right there."

She nearly groaned in relief. Finally, a half decent response. "My name is Doctor Clare Johnson and the hospital-"

" _I'll find you. Good day, Dr. Johnson."_ The phone clicked and she was suddenly cut off.

Well then.

* * *

 **Idk if this makes sense. I kept cutting away from writing to scroll through Tumblr because I'm a piece of trash. Hehe, anyway. I thought this up this morning while I was lying in bed, trying to go back to sleep because it was way too early and I just had to write it.**

 **Basically, I'm calling it the 20 years au.**

 **I hope this made sense. :3 don't die all! MAN I NEED TO UPDATE SO MUCH WHY AM I DOING THIS-**


	2. screams WHAT AM I DOING

**Thank you, guest! I feel so supported. *silent screams of appreciation for my readers and reviewers*  
**

* * *

Stanford set the phone down into the receiver with a click.

He- they were thirty-seven years old. He hadn't heard anything of his twin in over twenty years.

If he was being honest with himself- he really hadn't thought of Stan that much. During school, he managed to convince himself that Stanley, with his 'personality', was fine. He was fine.

 _He's been beaten nearly to death_. The words rang in Ford's ears.

The only thought that he could make in answer to the words was _did he deserve it?_

Ford wasn't above letting others have due justice. But...

Was this justice? What had Stan done to...no. No, this had a perfectly logical, reasonable explanation. Stan was coming home from work and got mugged or..or in a fist fight..or,

or something.

Someone's hand landed on his shoulder and Ford jumped, startled. He turned to see Fiddleford's wide, confused {and slightly concerned} eyes.

"Stanferd!? What's goin' on?"

"Fiddleford..." Ford sighed and fell against the wall. "I think I have some explaining to do."

"Ya don't say."

...

The story concluded and Ford'd head fell into his hands, glasses already abandoned on the table.

"Well, it sounds ta me like ya were both young and dumb, and maybe a lil' too stubbern." Fiddleford summed up. He saw Ford hiding in his hands and moved to take Ford's hands in his own. He caught Ford's gaze and his voice softened.

"You need ta go."

Ford's head dropped painfully unto the tabletop and he scowled at the wood. "Don't you think I know that?" Fidds held tighter onto his hands when he felt them tremble lightly.

"I can't have been wrong, could I? Fiddleford...what if I was wrong?" Ford choked on his words and went silent.

Fiddleford used one hand to finger comb through Ford's hair.

"Well then. I suppose you'll jus' have ta make it right."

...

He packed lightly. As lightly as he could manage. It was only a three-hour flight, but he wasn't sure how long he'd be staying.

Two suitcases later and Fiddleford was giving him a swift hug before shoving him out the door.

...

The plane ride wasn't so bad. It was spent mostly _ignoring his thoughts_ reading up on Colorado's history. It was _boring_ intriguing enough.

...

He caught a taxi after landing at the airport. It was later than he wanted.

Airport security was always a mess for him.

The drive was short. He clambered out and retrieved his things from the trunk. He hadn't bothered to check into a hotel yet. He could do that later.

...

It was a small hospital. He stepped inside.

It was cold. Not just temperature wise, but unwelcoming in a way that made Ford want to turn around and leave. He squared his shoulders. Then winced as it popped his back.

The receptionist was one of the most useless creatures he had ever talked to. It was as if he had only four words in his vocabulary. Ford leveled a scowl at him.

"Do you at least know," Ford seethed, "where I can find Dr. Johnson?"

"Present."

Ford flung around, only to meet eyes with a tall, brown haired, blue eyed woman dressed in a lab coat. Her eyes widened at the sight of him.

"Hah, you really are twins. Not that most people could tell, with him in this state."

Ford didn't dwell on that. "You must be the doctor from the phone call then?" He asked briskly, trying to hide his growing agitation. A pit of anticipation and anxiety had been brewing in his stomach ever since earlier that day.

She gave him a sad smile that made his stomach churn. "Yes." She glanced down, cocking an eyebrow, "Suitcases?"

Ford half-shrugged as he stooped to pick them up. "I flew here."

She blinked. "Oh." Without warning she turned away, walking swiftly down the hall. "Well, come on then. I suppose you'll want to see him?"

He followed hurriedly, swallowing away the dryness in his throat. "Yes, that would be..."

He trailed off. He wasn't sure what exactly what he meant to say. That it would be ideal? None of this was _ideal._

 _I just want answers! Just...answers._ Ford followed as best he could.

She stopped abruptly and turned into an open doorway. Ford stepped inside, breathless. Clare was very fast. He glanced up towards the bed.

A lot of words went through his mind as he stopped and stared at the shell of a man in front of him. Most of them were things he wished he could ignore. _Broken, tortured, emaciated...abused._

 _Dead._

Ford's eyes were wide as the suitcases fell to the ground beside him. He was trembling too hard to continue holding them.

 _I was so wrong.  
_

* * *

 **Guess what?! I wrote this chapter twice! That's right. My internet went down and deleted all my work previous. So this redo is a little shorter- I have things to do, but I think I got the emotions I wanted? So yeah.**

 **Me: I need a hug.**

 **Ford: Ask someone else.**

 **Me: Oh, you know you want a hug.**

 **Ford: No, really I don't.**

 **Me: Well, Stanley?**

 **Stan: No.**

 **Me: Well that didn't work.**


	3. What---just---happened

**Three chapters in one day...huh. TW: This got dark really fast. Um...lots of angst. Virtually all angst. It gets better, but it's mostly just pain. Have fun!  
**

* * *

When Ford was younger he would always imagine waking up one day and finding his extra fingers gone, as if it was all a bad dream. Those days were long past- but the sentiment was the same.

He wanted to wake up.

...

The first thing Stan became aware of, was the smell.

It was...awful. Something was burning his nose and even in the groggy daze he was in, the scent registered as bad. A bad place. If he had the energy or the will, he would try and move. Try and find out why it smelled so bad. At the moment, however, he was content to stay in the half-sleep daze he was in, neither asleep nor awake.

Unfortunately, it seemed his mind had decided he was done with sleeping. Hazy memories, bits, and pieces were starting to return to him. A groan started in his chest and barely escaped his throat. For a moment he had thought something else had made the sound, but no. He felt it vibrate within his chest.

That's when he felt it.

It coursed through his bones, his flesh, _his skin._ It was like a fire had been lit and he was placed right along with the tinder, searing, burning him alive.

It _hurt._

Stan's mind was suddenly wide-awake. His old pal adrenaline kicking in fast enough to make his head spin. His eyes shot open. Everything was moving slowly, but he couldn't see. Why couldn't he see?

Glasses. Right.

Two blobs were moving around him, going in and out of focus, and he tensed up in reflex.

Bad idea. The burning worsened, going from an agonizing ache to flat out _fire_. He bit his tongue to hold back a scream as he forced himself to relax, to lay back down.

Lay down? Was he on a bed?

He didn't know. He couldn't focus. Adrenaline was supposed to abdicate the pain, at least momentarily, but his abrupt awakening seemed to only make it more tangible. Sharper. He tried to single in on something, anything.

Noise. There was a faint noise beyond the buzzing in his ears. He strained to listen, eyes closing.

 _"No...Ley...c'mon wake up...ley!...don't you dare...he's in pain!...well, do something!"_

The same second those words fell into Stan's ears, a strange pulsing echoed from his arm. He was relieved to find it wasn't painful. It was rather...soothing. He was not happy to find that rather than go back to sleep, it only removed the pain.

Well, count your blessings when they come, Stan supposed. As the pained dulled, Stan figured it was safe to open his eyes again.

Never mind, there was nothing positive about anything going on.

The room was painted white. That was it. It was white, bright, and a torture in and of itself to look at. Suddenly the smell made sense.

Disinfectant. It made him want to scream. A _hospital?! He was in a freakin' hospital?!_

 _They should've let me die in peace._

 _"_ Stanley?"

The name made Stan turn his head towards the sound so suddenly he could feel the muscles in his neck yell at him.

He stopped breathing.

Tears sprung to his eyes and Stan wanted to scream. Not an angry scream. Not one borne of frustration.

A desperate scream of help. It bubbled up, only to die in his throat.

If he was really back there- no one would help him. The thought surged him out of his shock and he took a deep breath, only for it to dissolve into sobs. The tears boiled over his eyelids and streamed down his face in wave after wave.

" _Please, please, I can't be back here, I can't be-"_ Stan mumbled, his throat was closed off, for the most part, emotion choking his words away.

This was the return of a nightmare. It had been years since he'd been institutionalized. Yet the memories that haunted him were still fresh in his mind. He whimpered when something heavy fell on his arms, keeping him from moving.

"Stanley! Stanley, please, I don't know where you think you are, but I promise that you're safe! Ley, _please!"_

Stan shook his head. That's what Ford had said last time. The last time they'd put him away.

"Ley! Open your eyes! Look at me!"

Stan froze for a moment. His voice. Ford's voice was...different. It lacked the prepubescent squeak of a teenager. Still, Stan was cautious. He eyes were already dry when he cracked one open.

Ford's face was right beside his, large eyes staring at him through thick lenses. The first thing he noticed was that Ford looked...better. He was more mature, older.

Nothing like the phantom that had haunted him in that good-forsaken place. He relaxed slightly.

Wait. If this wasn't a figment of his imagination, then...Was Ford...here? Wait. No, that didn't make sense.

"Stanley? Do you believe me now?"

Stan opened both eyes and stared straight into his brother's gaze. Yes, he did believe it. He just couldn't believe it. His face must have portrayed his confusion because Ford's own expression changed from firm and commanding to sad and filled with pain.

"Ley...it's really you." Ford swallowed. Stan sucked in a breath of relief as his arms were released, Ford sitting back on a chair facing the bed. Stan's head turned to follow his movements. He nodded slowly.

"Ford?" Stan croaked. He wasn't sure what or why he was asking, but Ford nodded anyway.

Something clicked. Ford was here. Here was a hospital. He had been in pain. A lot of pain.

Crap. Stan turned away, sniffing. He was dying, wasn't he? That was the only explanation. Why else would his brother turn up after twenty years? He didn't see the frightened look that crossed Ford's face as he turned away.

"Ley!? Ley, what's wrong?"

"You're here."

Ford's brow furrowed, "What?"

Stan's voice was dry and cracked, but he managed to speak anyway, eyes shut and head turned away, "You're here. Why are you here? I'm dying, aren't I? Either we're both dead and you're here to take me to Hell or you want to make sure I didn't forget you in my will, am I right?"

Not that Stan had much to give, but if Ford wanted it, he wasn't petty enough to say no. With his eyes closed, he didn't see the expression of pure disgust on Ford's face.

He did hear the gasp though.

"Stanley!" Stan opened his eyes again and glanced at Ford. "You can't be serious! I'm not here because you're dying!"

Stan snorted, "Oh really? Then why are you here?"

Ford's scowl contradicted his words, "Because you're my brother! Because I love you! Because I was wrong!"

Silence. Stan was really, really confused.

"Twenty years- Ford. TWENTY YEARS." Okay, confusion was thrown out the window, Stan was ticked. He had half a mind to stand up and show this guy what suffering really meant. "Who are you!?" Stan sat up and continued to do so even after Ford's anger vanished, replaced by concern. He fought the hands- was there someone else in here?- that tried to force him down. "My brother doesn't give a crap about me! I spent seventeen years protecting him, being his friend, being his _brother_ and he threw it out! He let it all walk right out the door for a dumb mistake I didn't even cause!" Stan huffed and finally let the hands push him back unto the bed. His eyes were red and puffy with tears, and the need to start crying, to burst into childlike sobs was nearly unbearable.

"Stanford Pines doesn't care jack about me. He forgot me." Stan couldn't hold back anymore and the sobs burst forth again.

 _This can't be happening._

...

Ford wasn't just trembling. He was crying. Large sobs escaped him and he did nothing to hold them back. When Stan first woke up, Ford had been by his bedside, waiting. He had been given permission to stay overnight and he wasn't planning on leaving until Stan was awake.

Because he had been wrong. Ford wasn't one to deny a fact, and that's what it was. Ford thought Stan had been fine and he was very, very wrong.

Despite the strange logic of it all, Ford really did feel guilty. So much so that at first he wasn't sure he would ever feel anything other than guilty ever again. Then a thought came to him.

It had been two decades and people changed. Did he really know his brother anymore? The very thought made Ford feel physically sick.

As a child, they both only knew two things. One, that they were going to be adventurers, and two.

They would always have each other. Each one like either side of a scale, balancing one another out.

Ford never thought his twin would become a stranger, but the way he screamed, thrashed and begged was so out of the outline Ford had set in his mind regarding Stan's personality, he wasn't sure if the boy he'd known and the man he'd found were the same person.

Now they were both sobbing. Ford only cried harder when he looked up to see Clare, confused and crying herself- but unsure how to comfort. She eventually walked out.

Ford couldn't blame her. He didn't understand much himself anymore.

Eventually, both men cried themselves out. Stan fell asleep immediately, face hidden by the single sheet he had covering him.

Ford studied his face for a moment. It was so...worn down. Dark circles beneath his eyes and several scars across his nose and around the back of his head seemed to age him, making him seem way beyond his years. It was true neither of them was considered young anymore, but they certainly weren't old either. Ford's face wasn't in a scowl for once. Rather, he gave his sleeping brother a pleading look.

"Wake up in the morning, and if you can't forgive me, I promise you'll never see me again." Ford shrugged off his coat and placed it over Stan. Curling into his own chair, Ford fell asleep, dreaming dreams he hadn't thought to think about in over twenty years.

It was the best sleep he'd gotten in two decades.

...

Stan woke up again, this time to an entirely new smell.

Coffee.

His eyes shot open, searching greedily for the source of the aroma that filled the room.

"Want some? I asked her to get one for you."

Sitting in the same chair as the day before, Ford held out a paper cup towards him. Stan's eyes widened.

Crap. It hadn't been a nightmare.

"Ford?" Stan asked, incredulous. Ford gave him a sheepish smile, with a shrug.

"Hi."

Stan gaped, barely managing to stutter, "You-You're still here."

Ford's smile seemed a little sadder than before, but he nodded. "Yes. I'm still here."

He glared at Stan as if to say _Try and make me leave._

It was a bit much. Stan observed the wall in front of him as he quietly took the cup and sipped on the hot, steaming contents. He sighed. Now that was something he could get used to.

Stan took a moment to really appreciate where he was and what had happened. With everything he remembered happening with Ford, he forgot to tend to himself. He was sure the pain from before was due to some pretty extensive injury. He was just glad for whatever they were doping him up with so he didn't have to feel it all.

Finishing the cup off, Stan moved to remove the covers- but Ford stopped him.

"Careful! You messed yourself up with all that moving yesterday. They were actually really ticked at me for that." Ford chuckled nervously, "not that I don't deserve it."

Stan gave him a strange look as if to say _you don't think I don't know that? I've had worse._ Ford backed off, appearing apologetic. But not before he slipped something off Stan's bed. His coat. Stan stared at it.

Ford placed the coat into his lap and stared determinedly at another wall, sipping his coffee as nonchalantly as he could. Stan blinked. Had Ford placed it on him? Even after they'd fought? Stan shook the thoughts from his mind. Right, he needed to inspect the damage.

He peeled away the covers and gasped. His legs were strapped into braces, presumably for broken- well, most likely fractured bones. Everything was littered with purple and blue bruises and he didn't even need to look to know his chest was covered in cuts. Blood was seeping through the bandages and even the thin excuse for a...whatever this hospital thingy was called.

That wasn't good, that definitely wasn't good. Stan hurriedly laid back down and tried not to think too hard about when they finally took him off the pain meds.

"She told me you have the heart of a racehorse," Ford spoke from the side, voice steady and pleasant. Stan pretended to ignore it.

"She thought you might be some sort of miracle man, the way you were injured, yet still fought the way you did." Stan glanced in Ford's direction just quick enough to see a small, but genuine smile flash across his lips.

"I'm proud of you. For fighting back." Ford said, eyes flickering toward him hopefully.

Stan stiffened.

The one thing in the world Stan had ever wanted was approval. Approval from his father, from his brother, from his _family._

It was the one thing he never seemed to get.

He pushed the thought away. Ford was just...feeling guilty or, or obligated to say something like that.

"Stanley?"

Stan hummed, he wasn't sure if he was capable of speech at the moment.

"I'm sorry. I know it's not enough, and I don't want it to be enough. I was wrong- I was foolish and young with aspirations that were solely based on becoming famous and changing the world and _proving people wrong_ that I neglected you and everyone else. I thought you would be okay." Stan grunted at that. Ford nodded,

"Yes, I know. You weren't and aren't, but I really thought you would be! You had 'personality' as ma called it and I just...made the assumption that you would be fine. I drilled it so far into my psyche that I didn't even consider the other possibilities." Ford turned away from the wall to look Stan in the eyes.

"I was wrong. Stanford Pines and all eight of his useless Ph.D.'s were wrong, and I'm sorry." Ford bit his lip as he struggled to keep calm, Stan watched on, face blank of any emotion.

"And-and if you never want to see me again-" Ford choked and took a swig of coffee before finishing.

"I wouldn't blame you. I won't bother you- I'll pay for the hospital bill, hand over all my cash and you'll never have to see me again." Ford seemed to drain as he finished his monologue, slumping in his chair and staring at the wall again.

Stan snapped.

"What sort of apology was that?!" He growled, Ford jumped in surprise and seem to curl in tighter on himself-" Is that my only option?! Take your money and watch you leave again?!" Stan gestured to his broken body. "And what am I going to do with this, huh? Drive around with my broken legs?" Stan's little charade was breaking and he could barely hold in his mirth. He smirked.

"I'd think I would rather you be punished. Surely taking care of me is punishment enough right? You'll have to push me around in a wheelchair and make me laugh and-" Ford stared, eyes getting wider and wider as Stan continued his spiel- "And basically..." Stan concluded, "Be stuck with me forever."

Stan's smirk exploded into a full-on grin and Ford jumped up from his chair, laughing and crying in relief. Stanley had forgiven him!

"Stanley! I- you-" Stan chuckled.

"You didn't really think I could hold a grudge, did ya Sixer? Last I remember that was your job..." Stan laughed at the horrified expression Ford gave him and reached out carefully with one of his arms.

"High six?"

Ford gave Stan's hand a blank stare before his smile returned ten-fold.

"High six."

* * *

 **Hehe, what the crap did I just write.**

 **me: Idk**

 **Me: I DON"T FREAKIN KNOW ANYMORE**

ME: Why am I here?

 **ME: WHERE IS THE FLUFF THIS HAS VIRTUALLY NO FLUFF.**

 **mE: I DON't kNOW Okay?!**

 **{Guys I straight up binge wrote this idk if it makes ANY sense but I love you all hope you're okay and have a good night and stuff I'ma sleep now.}**


	4. I was supposed to be asleep hours ago

**Thank Brenne for this, because I wasn't actually going to continue this, but she inspired me! TW: FLUFF.  
**

* * *

The day Clare could finally tell Stanley he was allowed to leave, the twins had already been in the hospital for almost a week. Apparently, Stan had not only _looked_ starved, but he really had been malnourished and dehydrated, although that was really just icing on the cake at that point. Either way, it made for a longer hospital stay- much to his chagrin.

"C'mon Ford! It'll be easy! Ya just gotta hijack a pair of crutches-

"You can't have crutches for at least a month."

"That's what they said. I told you I was joking about you wheeling me around." Stan pouted, arms crossed against his chest. "I can move fine on my own!"

Ford rolled his eyes, but the way he was fighting a smile gave away his amusement. "Stanley. I promised Clare you wouldn't hurt yourself further! Why are you making this difficult?" He mimicked Stan's movement, arms crossed and gave him a stern look. "We are not running away and I am definitely not letting you walk by yourself." His glare dissolved into a smirk and he snickered when Stanley groaned in annoyance, his plans foiled.

"Guess you're really the one stuck with _me,_ aren't you Stanley?"

"Don't push yer luck, Nerd. I could sneak outta this place and you wouldn't even notice." Stan stated smugly. Ford raised a brow.

"Oh, really? What are you going to do, jump out the third story window?"

Stan laughed at that. "Pffft, what?! Who do I look like, Tom Cruise? Nah- I'd just walk out. You'd be surprised at what people tend to ignore. If ya ain't in bed, ya can fend for yourself."

Before Ford could come up with an adequate response, a knock sounded from the door. Ford looked up from his seat and adjusted his glasses. They spoke simultaneously,

"Come in!"

The door swung open and Stan grinned.

"Well if it ain't the doctor herself! And what can I do for ya, Dr. Johnson?" Stan sent a playful wink her way and Clare laughed. Had she known this guy was such a flirt, she might not have told him how she was the one who had called Stanford up. This whole ' you're my hero,' business was a little much for her, even though she knew he was just playing around. Ford flashed her a quick, grateful smile.

Ford was a surprise to her. At first, she had thought him rude and inconsiderate, but after the last few days, they'd all become good friends. At least she thought so. After several days of getting to know the man- who was much happier than he had been- it was clear Ford just tended to speak his mind. Since the twins had fought and supposedly made up, he was most kind and gentle. She couldn't recall seeing him scowl since that first day.

He was also a huge nerd. After she had realized that, it was hard for her not to like him.

It was also mind-boggling to think she had reunited twins who had been lost from one another for over two decades. The very thought was barely conceivable.

She was almost sad to see them go.

Giving Stan a, 'haha very funny' look she tapped her clipboard. "Well, actually, it more of what I can do for you...I've come to give you the green light!" She nearly squealed out her news. She knew Stan hated hospitals and she was excited for him and his brother.

Ford jumped out of his chair with a loud, "Haha!" Clare really did squeak and flinch. He gave her an apologetic glance.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Before Clare could say more than 'it's fine' Ford turned to Stan,

"You know what this means! It means you don't have any reason to sneak out! And now that Clare is here your one hundred percent not allowed to leave on crutches."

Stan groaned and splayed back on the bed dramatically, "You just gave away my plans, Poindexter!" He pulled his arm back, reaching for his pillow to throw it at Ford. Clare quickly caught his arm-

"Nah-ah, I don't think so Mr." Claire leveled a firm glower towards his strangely innocent, wide eyes. "You've hurt yourself enough, don't you think Ford?" She glanced at Ford, standing on the other side of the bed. He nodded.

"Seriously, Stanley. Remember the worse you struggle, the longer you'll be injured, and the longer I'll have to 'wheel you around', as you say." Ford smirked and Stan gapped at them both disbelievingly.

"You guys really aren't gonna let me leave with an ounce of dignity, are you?"

Ford's chuckle only made Clare giggles worsen. Ford shook his head,

"Nope." Suddenly Ford was swept away by a fit of laughter, to the point where he was doubled over, wiping tears from his eyes. He gasped for air.

Stan was holding back laughter himself, "Ford, what's so funny?!" Stan asked. Ford could barely look him in the eyes.

"If- if you think I'm bad...wait until you meet my roommate!" Ford doubled over again and Stan burst into laughter with him.

If the worst thing he would have to endure was meeting Ford's probably equally nerdy roommate-

Well, it couldn't possibly be worse than anything that had already happened, now could it?

...

Stan's face was as red as it could humanly get.

After needing help getting his clothes on- apparently legs braces and bandages all along your chest made putting pants and a t-shirt on very difficult- Stan really wasn't sure what was more humiliating.

His brother helping him change, or being carried to a wheelchair. Without warning, Ford had scooped him up bridal style and carried him all of the eight feet from the bathroom to the wheelchair beside his bed.

"Ford!" Stan whined as he was lifted up as easily as if he had been a paper bag. Ford noted this away for future reference but otherwise didn't mention his brothers lacking weight. His brow furrowed in concern for a moment.

"Yes? Did I hurt you?" Ford asked worriedly. Stan rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, because I can feel tons when I'm doped up Vicodin." Stan's face was already red and Ford realized his concern was unnecessary. Stan really was embarrassed about this, wasn't he?

Not that Ford blamed him. He didn't like it when Fiddleford forced him to bed or made him eat properly. He supposed the embarrassment of being unable to take care of oneself was just like that, only a thousand times worse. The thought made him laugh.

A thought came to him just as he was about to reply. Something Stanley used to say to him after a hard day of school. _It's just me and a swab of toilet paper pluggin' yer nose, Sixer! It doesn't care if you cry and neither do I._

"Stanley, it's just me. You don't have to feel weird, you know." Ford answered simply. He made it to the chair and did his best to amply set Stan down.

Stan seemed to think about that for a moment before blinking back to reality and giving Ford an accusing glare as he shifted in the chair to get more comfortable.

"Hey...no, no, no! You can't give me my awesome advice back to me! That's against the rules." Stan grumbled. "Anyway, Clare's sitting right there, so it doesn't count."

Clare, who was staring at an alert on her phone, hummed as she looked up. "Hmm? What is it? Oh!" She smiled and stood up, dropping her phone into her coat pocket. "You're ready to go it! Aw, my boys growing up so fast." She faked wiping a tear away and both twins distracted from their 'argument', snorted.

"What does that even mean?" Stan asked, unable to keep the smile off his face, despite the supposedly surly comment. She got up and ruffled his hair lightly. Stan huffed but didn't move to stop it.

"It means I'm going to miss you two." She looked to both of them. Ford's smile softened.

"Thank you, Dr. Jo-" She narrowed her eyes at him. He cleared his throat and started again.

"Heh, Thank you, Clare." Ford glanced down at his brother before returning his gaze to Clare, "For everything."

Clare opened her mouth to speak, but Stan beat her to it.

"Yeah, uh. Thanks for not letting me die in that alleyway. Sorry if I punched one of your doctor friends or somethin'." Stan chuckled self-consciously.

"I _really_ don't like hospitals, but uh...you make this one better." Stan gave her a sincere, heart-melting smile she couldn't help but return. That is until he winked.

"So since you already have this Nerd's number-"

"Our number Stanely."

Stan waved away the sentiment, "Yeah yeah, whatever. Then I guess you have no excuse not to call?" Stan ended the sentence with a note of uncertainty, and...hope. Clare sighed with a smile.

"Of course." She turned and shot towards the door with a sniff.

"Okay! I'm done with mushy stuff! Let's get you two home safe. You ready?"

Ford looked down just as Stan looked up. Stan grinned.

"You ready, Sixer?"

Ford laughed. "Another roommate, how will I endure?" Ford held the chair by the handlebars and pushed. Stan barely heard what came next.

"What an adventure."

...

Stan may have hated being pushed around, but he had to admit one thing. After all, was said and done, the future was looking bright again once more. He had his brother back, a friend, another- he really hoped this Fiddlenerd guy didn't hate him- friend on the way and...peace. All his enemies thought he was dead. No one should have survived what he had.

He felt himself nodding off. Being awake was exhausting. Stan closed his eyes, dreams, and hopes that had never truly died springing to life as he fell asleep.

For the first time in twenty years, Stanley Pines slept soundly.

* * *

 **I wanted to continue this chapter but I really have to get to bed. Sorry if there are any horrible errors, it's late and I'm tired, but I just really needed some fluff. I hope it makes sense and you don't hate it! :3 love ya'll and don't die!**


	5. why does this exist?

**:P  
**

* * *

Fiddleford groaned. Turning over on his bed, he reached towards his nightstand, fumbling for his glasses. Someone was knocking on the door and wouldn't stop, even after he'd ignored it for a good half hour or so. He nearly fell out of the bed, then tripped going down the stairs to the front door. He had to refrain from yelling as he forced the front door open after spending several minutes trying to undo all the locks.

Stanford never really did stop being paranoid. Although, Fiddleford had to admit that the numerous number of locks on everything was helpful in keeping out the local gnome gang, who were always trying to break in and trash the house.

The door finally swung open and Fidds stepped away before it hit him in the nose. Blinking he looked up and gaped.

Stanford was standing outside the door, throwing him a sheepish smile. "Hey."

Fiddleford's face screwed up in false annoyance. "Stanferd, I love ya, but didja have ta show up at four a.m?" He laughed and shook his head when Ford didn't seem to have a response other than, 'sorry'. Fiddleford started as a realization came over him. "Stanferd! Yer home! What happened?! Is yer brother...?" He trailed off and was sighed in relief as Ford shook his head and...grinned.

"No! No, Fiddleford, he's...he's here."

"He's here? As in...?" Fiddleford strained his head to look at the driveway. Ford stepped farther outside and gestured to the driveway. Goodness, he wasn't sure he could ever remember Stanford smiling so much. Ford nodded.

"Yes! There's a very long story and I'm sure you want some real answers in the morning, but for now, I was hoping you would be okay if he lived with us? He can't be on his own..."

Fiddleford rolled his eyes with a smile. "I don' know why ya ask, Stanferd. I know it ain't my house."

"You've lived here long enough."

"I don' pay the mortgage. And even if I did, I wouldn' say no." Some of the exhaustion fell away from Fidds' face as he followed Ford outside and he smiled. "So, do I get ta meet 'im?"

Ford chuckled softly. "Well, he's actually asleep at the moment. I...didn't have the heart to wake him up. Sorry about waking you up by the way. I didn't bring my key when I left for Colorado." He huffed in annoyance with himself. Fidds waved away his apology and cocked his head towards the car.

"Ya know I don' care. But Stanferd- yer not gonna let him sleep in the car, are ya?" Fiddleford shot him and the car a concerned look and raised a brow when his concern seemed to make Ford laugh.

Ford waved away the question, still laughing until he a steadying breath. "S-sorry. It's just a conversation I had about you with Stanley. He...uh. Doesn't enjoy being taken care of. Speaking of which," Ford straightened up, face falling away from amusement and into his more normal serious frown, "He's...not well. Fiddleford..." Ford sagged as if someone had thrown a sandbag over his shoulders. He whispered, "Fiddleford, I've never seen a more sickly sight."

Fiddleford could hear the pain in Ford's voice and grabbed his hand. Ford looked up gratefully and collected himself, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts.

"I apologize, perhaps I can introduce you two now? You're right, I don't want to leave him in the car."

Fiddleford nodded, still smiling. In total honesty, Fiddleford wasn't sure what he had expected out of this whole ordeal, but if the worst thing that came from it was meeting his best friend's brother and hopefully making a new friend out of him, Fidds wasn't going to complain. He actually had a feeling this would be a very good thing, for all of them.

They walked over to the car. Fidds had let go of Ford's hand already and he followed from behind as Ford went to open the passenger door.

He stepped around to glance inside the door and gasped.

 _Oh goodness._

It was true that Stanley was indeed a wreck of a man. Even after almost an entire week in a hospital bed, Stanley Pines was hard to look at. His skin was sallow and the bags under his eyes were only masked by the bruises.

Stan had plenty of those.

Besides his complexion, Stan was _skinny_. He was lean and bony and it just looked _wrong_. Fiddleford didn't know anything about this man, but it was obvious that Stan Pines was not born to be skinny. Not like this.

Bandages and metal ligaments could be seen underneath the too big t-shirt he wore and near the ankle of his legs where his jeans didn't quite cover the brace. Ford nodded when Fidds gasped. His face seemed to age.

"He looked so much worse before, Fiddleford. He-" Ford cut off and turned away, biting his lip. Fiddleford's heart was bursting with pain for his friend and this man, a near stranger, but even in his pitiable state, Fiddleford could see the resemblance between the two twins. Fidds stepped away and gestured for Ford to wake him up.

Ford gave him a small nod and turned his gaze to Stanley.

"Stanley, Stanley, please wake up." Ford nudged Stan's arm and Stan grumbled under his breath.

"Mm...don' wanna. The plumber lives nex' door." He mumbled. Ford glanced up at Fiddleford, who was holding back a laugh with his hand. Ford himself was trying to contain his own mirth, but as soon as Fiddleford and Ford locked eyes it was all over. Fiddleford wasn't even sure why it was funny. Perhaps it was the late hour or the way they had both been sad a moment before because this man just looked so darn pitiful and then dropped that line on them in his sleep, but neither of them could stop laughing.

...

Stan had been dreaming about...something. At the moment he was in the weird black/ grey abyss of nothingness again. Slowly being drawn forth by the sound of something...happy. It was a happy sound. Stan found himself drawing closer and closer to consciousness.

He woke up with a yawn. He blinked, his mind whirring faster when the happy sound that had pulled him from his slumber dissipated. Glancing at the driver's side, expecting to see Ford, Stan opened his mouth to speak, only to stay silent.

Ford was gone.

"S-Stanley?" Stan turned his head to the right and Ford was there _oh thank Oden_ , trying to suppress a smirk. Stan raised a brow as he tried to take everything in. He yawned again.

"F-F-Ford? What's goin' on?" Stan's eyes watered, his jaw nearly popping with the force of it. He wanted to stretch his arms but had been explicitly told against doing so before, and he had no desire to be told off again.

"Stanley, we're here. Sorry to wake you up." Stan hummed.

"Nah, it's okay. Why were you laughing?" Stan was waking up a bit more and he shifted in his seat since he'd been falling out of it before. He glanced towards a flurry of movement that came from behind Ford and for a moment, he tensed. Until the face came closer towards the light the car put off and Stanley sighed in relief.

It was a man, small, skinny and definitely a nerd.

"Howdy! I'm Fiddleford Hadron Mcgucket, at yer service." He stuck out a hand and Stan jumped, eyes wide.

When was the last time he'd had a civilized introduction to someone?

He couldn't remember. Stan slowly shook his hand. He grinned. "Stanley Pines! You're Ford's nerd friend?" Stan asked, slowly placing his hand in his lap when he noticed Ford glaring at him from behind the nerdy noodle that was this man. Fiddleford nodded, although he frowned.

"Am I supposed to take offense to that?" He asked. Stan raised a brow in confusion before he facepalmed, making Ford yelp at him. Fiddleford jumped. Stan gave them both apologetic looks.

"Sorry, sorry! Okay, I won't do that." Stan turned to Fiddleford sheepishly, "Sorry. FYI nerd is not an insult in my book." Stan's eyes flickered to Ford and Fiddleford's gaze followed, looking for confirmation. Ford nodded with a huff.

"Yes, yes. You're a saint, now can we get you inside before you break your own nose?" Ford asked irritably. Fiddleford cocked his head in confusion at his abrupt change of attitude, but Stanley rolled his eyes.

"And you thought I was over-protective!" Stan leaned as best he could towards Fidds conspiratorily, hand up as though sharing a secret. "He won't even let me walk! Can you believe it? Drama queen." Stan snickered and Fiddleford gave him an amused smile, which only grew when Ford, who had heard Stan, scowled.

"Stanley! You have fractures all along _both_ of your legs!"

Stan shrugged with a smirk, "So?"

"So!" Ford struggled to come up with words to adequately articulate his emotions but gave up with a huff after a moment. Instead, he leaned down and scooped Stan out of the seat. Stan growled in surprise.

"Ford! Ugh, at least give me some warning." Stan crossed his arms. Ford could barely see Stan's flushed face in porchlight as he walked him into the house. Fiddleford followed, closing the car door as he did. He chuckled to himself as the twins continued bantering.

This was going to be interesting.

* * *

 **It's _not_ fiddauthor and it's _not_ stancest. It's adorable. That's it. Idk if this chapter makes sense either- sorry. **

**Stan: You finally give me fluff and it has to be when I'm physically incapable of moving?**

 **me: well we all know I suck at fluff. I'm really trying over here! I stayed up 'till two am to write this, gosh darn it! XD Because that's the only time my brain works, ack.**

 **Ford: Well...um. It's something.**

 **Me: You may be a useless critic sometimes, but you are both ADORABLE.**

 **Ford *blushing*: No.**

 **Stan: Yeah I am. *flashes charming smile***

 **Pfft what am I doing it's really late I'm gonna go sleep now XD. Don't die all!**


	6. I have no excuse for this au really

**Them chicken noodles.  
**

* * *

As Ford stepped inside, Stan clung to his shirt. He really didn't like being carried like this. It was literally putting your life in someone else's arms. Admittedly, he was glad it was Ford's arms and not some random guy on the street, but it was still uncomfortable. He didn't dwell on it long, however, too busy examining the room for it to bother him on anything more than a subconscious level.

Stan could see Ford in everything, from the glass-encased dinosaur skull { _Where on earth did he find that?}_ To the shelves overflowing with papers and books, interspersed with the occasional thingamabob that Stan couldn't begin to identify. Other than the overwhelming ' _nerd'_ atmosphere, it looked comfortable and inviting.

It was more than Stan could say for most of the places he'd slept in the last twenty years. Stan shook the thought from his head as Ford set him down in the room's only armchair. Stan sighed in relief and unclenched his hands. Ford raised a brow.

"You really don't like being carried, do you?" Ford asked, walking around the chair to sit on a chair opposite. Stan attempted a half-shrug (he was so grateful that they'd sent him here with another few weeks worth of pain meds) and huffed.

"It's fine, I trust ya."

Ford was about to comment but that's when Fiddleford followed them inside. They heard the door lock and that's when Fiddleford appeared. Stan took a moment to really look him over.

He had a flop of light brown hair on his head, kind eyes, an aged smile and a ridiculously large nose, which balanced precariously a pair of round spectacles. He wore an oversized black t-shirt and the PJ pants he wore were covered in constellations. Despite himself, Stan couldn't help but let his heart soften. Who could NOT trust such a man? He screamed of anything and everything good {and nerdy} in this world.

The room was silent and Stan realized he'd been staring. He blinked and laughed, acutely aware both men were watching him closely.

"Ford, ya shoulda warned me how adorable your friend is," Stan smirked and Fiddleford laughed good-humoredly, obviously not taking Stan's comment seriously. Neither was Stan, but still. Ford face-palmed, glasses digging into the bridge of his nose.

"Stanley why-" He started, Fiddleford cut him off.

"It's fine, Stanferd. It's late too. We should probably be gittin' ta bed anyhow." Fiddleford gestured to the stairway. "We can worry abou' story tellin' an' answers in the mornin'"

Fiddleford's brow furrowed, "Speakin' 'o which, where are we gonna house Stanley tonight?" The question was directed at Ford, but Stan hurriedly answered,

"I'm fine! I can stay right here." He snuggled deeper into the chair. "See?"

It was a rather comfortable chair, but Ford rolled his eyes. "I'm not letting you sleep in a chair, Stanley"

"I agree, I don' reckon it'll help ya none."

Stan gaped at both of them. "You guys can't-"

Ford grinned smugly. "Yes, we can." Stan scowled.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I hate it when you're right."

"Only when it conflicts with what you think should be right." Ford finished. Stan harrumphed and crossed his arms. Fiddleford snickered and shook his head.

"Oh, that is a joy to watch." Fiddleford gestured to Ford and then the hallway. "Come 'n talk ta me a second, Stanferd?"

Ford nodded, only looking slightly confused as he stood up. He shot Stan a look. "Stay."

Stan leaned back with a grin. For a brief moment he'd debated whether or not to get offended, but after years of grief, he could appreciate even the bickering.

He'd really missed this.

"Sure thing, this chair is comfy." Stan snuggled farther into the seat and had to stop himself from curling on it, forcing himself to keep his legs on the ground. He knew the braces wouldn't let him maneuver them like that anyway. Ford huffed softly, his lips twitching into a smile as he left to see what Fiddleford wanted.

Fiddleford was waiting and Ford leaned against the wall. "Fiddleford? What is it?"

He shrugged. "Nothin' really. I jus' wasn't comfertable talkin' about yer brother while was in the room. I really don' know where we're gonna let him sleep. Although," Fidds laughed, "he really does seem ta like that chair."

Ford grinned. "Stanley used to fall asleep wherever he felt most comfortable. If he weren't injured I wouldn't have a problem with it." Ford's face fell.

"He still hasn't told me how it happened, you know. I don't even know where he's been the last two decades. It's a bit telling that he didn't seem to mind coming straight here though, isn't it?"

Fiddleford sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "Stanferd I love ya, but can ya leave the deep thoughts 'till mornin'? We really jus' need to figure out where Stanley will be sleepin'."

Ford frowned. "How come you only say 'I love you' right before telling me off for something?"

"Stanferd!" Fiddleford snorted. He had to keep himself up by keeping one hand on the wall as he laughed. "Stanferd, please." He tried to stifle the giggles {because after midnight a laugh is always a giggle} with his hand and Ford patted his back apologetically.

"Um...I'm sorry?"

Fiddleford had to take large and breathy gasps before he could calm down. He straightened up to see Ford biting his lip.

"Are you alright now? I didn't mean to stray from the topic..." Ford ran a hand through his hair and his face brightened. "If it makes a difference, I thought of a solution while you were nigh on choking on air." Ford gestured down the hall. "I can sleep in my study, I have a couch in there that I crash on anyway, so Stan can have my bed until we figure out a more permanent solution."

Fidds thought about it for a moment then nodded. "Alrigh', as long as we actually _do_ discuss a more permanent option, 'cause I ain't lettin' ya sleep on a couch every night either."

Ford clapped his hands together. "Perfect!" Ford grimaced. "I should probably clean off my bed."

Fidds rolled his eyes. "Ya would sleep on top of all yer books. Ya go do tha' an' I'll go tell yer brother." They parted ways and Ford made his way to his bedroom and Fidds reentered the living room.

The chair was facing away from the stairway so Fidds made his way around the chair, opening his mouth to speak, only to stop himself.

Stanley had fallen asleep again, or so it seemed. His long brown hair had fallen over his eyes and his mouth gaped just slightly. Fiddleford sighed.

He hadn't been expecting this. He didn't expect Stanford to have a twin brother. He didn't expect to have to babysit two adult men, he didn't know his wife was going to up and leave him, he didn't think he would spend nearly two-decades fighting off monsters and making friends with the fairies of fairy tales.

He didn't expect to meet a man like Stanford Pines. He smiled.

It was worth it.

* * *

 **Hey! Guess what- I've been keeping the chapters consistently over a thousand words! What a miracle! XD. I've been enjoying writing such small, insignificant scenes, it's fun. Hope ya'll aren't bored, and as always, I hope it makes sense!**


	7. La Dee dum! It's a flashback! Yaaa- oh

**Hey guys! So, update anyone? XD. Anyway, notes and stuff at the bottom, tw's for uh...being beaten to a half dead ragdoll of flesh and bone? XD also trigger warnings for** **that sentence because holy fish heads.**

* * *

It was dark. Wasn't it always?

The alley was dimly lit by a street lamp glowing pathetically from across the street. Stan's breath came in ragged gasps as he fled into the shadows. He knew it was a dead end, but running wasn't doing him much good. He saw the whole situation plain 'n simple. Run, and get caught, or hide and only maybe get caught.

Stan hated hiding, but when you were up against odds of five to one and they all had guns? Stan would hide, if only to stay alive for a few more hours.

So he ducked behind a dumpster and held his breath.

...

It was painful, there was no doubt about that.

Stan was on the ground, clenching his arm, which had been shot clean through. His teeth gritted as his eyes watered from the pain.

They had found him. Fast. Too fast.

Stan stared down the man holding the gun to his face. Going as far as to spit at the man.

" You missed." The man sneered. Before he shot again, finishing off Stanley for good, he looked behind him at his crew. The man's face lit up with a twisted grin.

" Aye...why don't we play a game?" The man- Stan didn't know his name, he mostly knew the guy by his overwhelming B.O. - chuckled darkly and brought out a knife.

"Who wants to play a game of hangman?"

Stan paled. If only the man hadn't missed the first time.

...

It wasn't an exaggeration to say Stanley fought like a rabid bear, even going so far as to bite the hands that got too close.

Despite this, he was tired. So, so tired. Food had been scarce that week and any reserve he might've had, had burned away years ago.

He was out numbered, injured and starving, yet he kept on kicking. Because to stop meant giving up.

Stanely Pines never gave up.

...

The only thought he had as they tore and battered his already battle worn body was how they could've possibly found him. I mean, what grunt with same amount of brain cells as a naked mole rat {no offense intended to mole rats} would look down such a specific alleyway!? Stan had counted, there were at least four other roads he could've ran down, corners he could've dodged behind! They must have known. Stan knew they must have known.

But how?

Stan didn't know. He still didn't know as the world faded from view and his eyes shut.

...

It was loud.

Wait...loud? No, that's not...Stan was alive. Wait, he was alive!? Stan blinked as a bright white light was shone into his eyes. He flinched back, the glare making his eyes hurt. Not that it was a big deal, the rest of him was certainly much worse.

When the glare left his eyes, Stan glanced a face. That was bothersome, yes, but not so much as the glint of metal in the face's hand. Stanely went on autopilot, weak, yet determined movements pushing the face away, and lunging out as more faces came.

"Who gave this man, adrenaline!?"

"No one! He's moving on his own!"

Stan couldn't hear the words of the frustrated shouts, but he did hear the noise, the loud angry noise and he fought harder until a small piercing pain fell on his neck and the world went black.

* * *

 **hey guys! This was way shorter than I wanted wanted but i just really don't have the time rn and I really wanted to post. Anyway,**

 **Ford: finally! I haven't seen this place in months!**

 **stan: how could you ignore us for so long!?**

 **fidds: howdy boys!**

 **stan and Ford: hey fidds!**

 **me: aw, it's like a mini reunion story.**

 **everyone: you have a problem.**

 **me: hehe I know.**

 **MM! YOU ARE WELCOME. XD. I just love the giving people my weird word habits! I have to ask, how do they respond when you say don't die? XD I get some pretty mixed reactions. ALSO.**

 **THE ONLY PERSON YOU AIM TO PLEASE IS YOURSELF BILL.**

XD. **maybe we all need sleep. DON'T DIE! Love ya guys. I gotta bounce.**

 **{I hope that, that one guy who wanted a flashback reads this...because that's what this chapter is? I hope I made that clear...}**


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